


Half As Pretty

by lesbiansmurf



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour, Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: Everyone! Listen!, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, the gay trolls in Branch’s Bunker... ARE PININGGGGGG
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiansmurf/pseuds/lesbiansmurf
Summary: For as long as they’ve been friends, Riff has kept his growing feelings for Branch under lock and key. However, when he pays him a visit to his bunker for the first time, and they’re snowed in after a blizzard—that may prove to be easier said than done.
Relationships: Branch/Riff (Trolls), Poppy/Barb (Trolls)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To preface, I just want to say that this will contain a lot of my own headcanons/things that I’ve developed with my awesome friends. If you have a question, don’t hesitate to ask! The title is inspired by the song Heather by Conan Gray, which kind of sums this fic up nicely. Give it a listen if you like gay troll angst
> 
> The background of this, to clear anything up, is that Riff and Branch became friends shortly after the events of World Tour, in the summer, during a slam poetry night in Pop Village. This fic is set several months ahead, in winter.

The closer they came to Pop Village, the more conflicting anticipation and anxiety brewed within Riff as he held on tight to Barb, who was driving her critterbike down a snow-filled path in the forest. The butterflies in his stomach only got worse the more he thought about going to Branch’s house—well, his _bunker_ , for the first time. The two had been corresponding through letters whenever Riff was too busy with his royal duties ( _or_ with school) to make the trip; in their last exchange, they made plans that today, they would meet up, and Branch would finally show Riff around his labyrinth of a home. 

Of course, it was all unbeknownst to Queen Barb; when he shyly asked her for the day off, and in turn figured out they were going to the same place, she offered him a ride there. And when the Queen of Rock offers you a ride, well, to say the least, you don’t say no. Riff eagerly accepted, and off they were, scaling through the ice and snow as fast as her poor critter bike could take them. 

Since even before the drummer and the survivalist had first become friends, through the changing of the seasons, through their slowly strengthening bond, and even despite the fact that she was taken; Branch’s feelings for Poppy remained, much to Riff’s repeated disappointment. It was like an endless cycle. Even if the initial flame had diminished—Riff constantly walked around with the uncomfortable, sinking feeling in the back of his mind that though Branch’s feelings for her no longer burned—they still smouldered. No matter how close the two of them had gotten, no matter how much Riff had tried to show Branch how much he cared—she _always_ seemed to come up at one point or another in the worst way, lingering in the woodsman’s thoughts, and more importantly, in his heart. A constant reality check that would come around to at least _try_ and slap some sense into Riff every time he found himself shamelessly daydreaming.

If he thought about it all much more, he knew he’d have to ask Barb to pull over. And he was **_not_ ** about to have her witness him losing his lunch in the snow.

Instead, Riff tried to shift his mind toward the good. Towards the part of him that could thankfully ignore all of that, and think about the parts of their complicated friendship he liked the most. Hearing Branch ramble about his little traps and inventions, writing poetry and stories with him, exchanging painful memories and experiences...staring at his bright blue eyes when he wasn’t paying attention...constantly longing to run his fingers through his well-kept, long, dark hair whenever they got close to each other—

“Kinda quiet back there, huh little drummer boy?” Barb teased him, “You okay?”

Riff was yanked out of his daydreaming instantly, embarrassed beyond belief. Had she been talking to him this whole time and he just hadn’t realized? Whoops.

“Oh! Ah, yea...s-sorry, Your Rockness… I just didn’t get much sleep last night. That’s all.” He stammered. Not exactly a lie, but not an entire truth, either.

Wearing a look of suspicion her friend couldn’t see, Barb wasn’t quite buying it. “Hey, so...just curious...what are you going to pop village for anyway?” The Queen prodded, keeping her eyes glued to the road. “You meeting up with someone?”

Riff didn’t answer right away. Was it a good idea to tell Barb that he had been hanging out with the guy who still had a blatant (and _devastating_ ) crush on her girlfriend, and that _he_ had a crush on _him_ that was _just_ as blatant and devastating? _While_ she was operating a moving vehicle? No. Definitely not. 

“U-uh… just to hang out, you know?” Riff answered sheepishly, omitting specifics. Barb’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You don’t mean...with _us_ , right?” she questioned, “Don’t take this in the wrong way, man, but, uh—“

“ _No_ , not with you guys,” He quickly interrupted, “Just… with people… around there. Maybe make some new friends or...something...like that. Just felt like getting out of the city for the day.” 

_Something like that?_ Was that all he could come up with? He knew she had to have seen right through him. 

Barb shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Oh yeah. She knew that was bullshit. Even still, a quiet sigh of relief escaped Riff; her choosing not to prod any further, at least for right now, was better than nothing. He’d find the right time to tell her at some point… eventually. Maybe she’d even have some good advice for him… before or _after_ she would knock his teeth out for this, however, he was unsure.

Once the vehicle came to a stop right below Poppy’s pod, the rock troll felt his insides tie in knots as soon as he hopped off the bike, and his feet hit the snow. At least his shivering from the cold masked the half that was due to his own nerves. 

“Catch you later, man,” Barb called out to him, already heading up the mossy branch that led to Poppy’s pod, “ _Try_ and stay out of trouble for once, yea?” 

A shy laugh escaped Riff, and he nodded profusely. As he turned to walk the other way, he quickly realized something and turned back around.

“Oh! Queen Barb! Uh, about that,” He shouted, grabbing her attention, “Don’t wait up for me. If I’m not here when you leave later, I’ll walk back in the morning, I guess.”

She was surprised. “You sure about that?”

Riff nodded. “Yeah...I’ll be alright. Thanks though!” 

With that, Riff took off into the other direction, and whipped out the little decently hand-drawn map that Branch had mailed to him that, much to Riff’s internal discomfort, began at Poppy’s pod.

Barb looked on and shook her head, heavily amused by how poorly Riff was hiding whatever it was he was actually doing. They would have a talk about it later; for now, she had her lady to take care of. He could handle himself for a while. With that, the two went their opposite ways.

Unnervingly, Branch’s place actually wasn’t too far away from the queen’s pod; just around the bend, and a short distance up the road, ending at his front door—or, rather, his _trap_ door that was covered by a mossy rug, reading, _Please Go Away_. Legs feeling like jelly, Riff almost wished he could honor it’s request.

“Branch?” Riff called out, his voice cracking in the process. Great. They hadn’t even seen each other yet and he was already acting like this. When he heard the sound of gears shifting from below, his stomach twisted in knots. Up from beneath the ground rose Branch, clad in a leafy green sweater and his patched up brown pants, who greeted him with a chipper smile. That glowing, tender grin that made his heart do somersaults. Good grief.

“Hey! Riff!” Branch said, as he stepped forward to pull him into a casual hug. To Riff, it was anything but. The mere half a second he remained in his arms felt like ten minutes to the lovestruck rocker. This was unusual, right? He seemed so… happy? Not that he walked around being moody everyday—well, not _every_ day—but, he was… excited. Warm, even. To see him? No...right? But...why else would he be so excited? over _him_? It just couldn’t be. They were so close together that when Riff caught a whiff of Branch’s cologne, it struck his senses with the strength of a freight train; Earthy, and deep, it shamefully captivated him. When they pulled apart, he almost felt his heart sink.

“H-hey, Branch!” Riff choked out, nerves still vaguely present in his voice, “...What’s up?”

Branch scoffed. “ _You’re_ what’s up! I’ve been cleaning this place all morning so everything’s ready to show you around,” He explained, “Geez, all this time and I’ve never invited you down here. Which, again, I am _really_ sorry about...guess I’ve had so much on my mind for awhile that I didn’t even realize.”

The rock troll’s brain was in a twist. He _cleaned for him_ . Okay, reality check. He cleaned to _impress_ him. Not **_for_ ** him… right? _Right?_ He was in such a haze that he almost didn’t snap out of it fast enough to acknowledge the somber shift in Branch’s tone.

“Oh! N-no, no dude, it’s okay… I understand.” Riff softly comforted him, “...Do you wanna talk about it or something?”

The survivalist shrugged his shoulders. “Eh...maybe later. Right now, if I remember correctly, we’ve got other things to attend to.” He quickly suggested. “After you!”

Branch stepped to the side closest to the lever, and held his arm out, inviting Riff to step up onto the platform. Blush clearly present on his face even under his hat, the rocker obliged, and together they descended into Branch’s bunker.

“Thanks, though, by the way.” the pop troll added sincerely. Riff hesitated, even the simplest words feeling stuck in his throat. 

“No p-problem, man…” he stammered back, as he kept his gaze glued to the ground to avoid looking at the woodsman’s tired, callused hands with longing. Silence again as they continued downwards. It wasn’t good for suppressing the thoughts that filled the rocker’s head—silence only fueled them. Ones that begged him to reach out for his hand to occupy the space between them, and various other things that he would _never_ admit to or express out loud. 

“I started building the bunker when I was a kid, sooo… it’s kind of endless,” Branch geeked out, much to the rocker’s poorly-hidden delight, “Over here is my emergency food stock room! And we’ll pass the water below in a second. It was all a _bit_ depleted a few years back when everyone was hiding from the Bergens in here, so I _used_ to have about 10 years worth of emergency provisions, but right now I’m at about 5-ish years.” He explained. Riff looked on in foolish awe at all of the jars of water he kept huddled together in a store room.

“To the right is my work-out room,” He pointed out, as the flustered rocker tried not to let his mind wander around the thought of watching him pump iron, “And down there is the well!”

When they reached the ground, Riff looked around his house with a sweet grin on his face. It was actually pretty similar to how he’d pictured it; organized, rustic, and very...homey. Like being in your grandma’s house, if your grandma was a secretly sensitive, beefy, paranoia-driven Troll who was very particular about his space, since it was one of the few things in his unpredictable life that he could actually control. 

The drummer’s gaze drifted around the room, until he fixated on the practically bursting bookcase in Branch’s living room.

“I guess I’m not surprised, but, wow… you’ve got your own _library_ down here!” Riff commented, as he walked over to it. His fingers skimmed over the spines of the massive collection, while his eyes scanned the titles.

“Heh, yea. I’ve probably read most of those books cover-to-cover a _few_ times over in my life. Not so much lately, though. But, years ago… it’s all I did to take my mind off of things.” Branch lamented, “Well, that, and my own writing. Just a nice way to escape.”

Riff’s index finger stopped on the spine of one book in particular. Geez. He really _did_ have everything.

“Aw, man, _Critter Farm?_ ” He asked as he thumbed through the pages, “Go-lly… I haven’t read this in...years.” 

“Eh, well, you know… kind of a classic. Gotta read it at least once I guess, you know?” He replied. As if they were on the same wavelength, the both of them started to say, “Not much of a...fan...though…” only slowing their words upon realization. Nervously, the two laughed it off, as Riff slid the book back into its proper space, hoping he didn’t drop it with his shaking hand in the process. He couldn’t refuse the tiniest smug grin that crept onto his face, but it quickly vanished when he turned back to Branch, who was leading him in another direction. 

“Over there’s the kitchen—Oh! Speaking of which… do you want something to drink? Like, uh, maybe some coffee? Or tea?” 

The rock troll thought on that one. To be honest, he probably could use some kind of pick-me-up right now.

“Um, well, if you wanted some too, maybe we could make a pot of coffee…?” He answered sheepishly. 

“Good idea. I’ll get on it.”

As Branch scurried away to get some coffee brewing, pots and pans clattering about as he rooted for his kettle, Riff found himself wandering the living room again. He picked up a neatly-folded, leafy green crocheted blanket up off of an armchair, and draped it over his shoulders as he started to scan the pictures that now littered his shelves and walls.

The most soul crushing Poppy shrine he had ever laid eyes on.

Or, well, at least that’s what it looked and felt like. He had so many pictures of the two of them scattered about. Even several where it was _just_ a picture of Poppy. He knew that they were only friends—she was with Barb, and very happily at that. They had been through so much together— _years_ worth of adventures, trust, and friendship—there wasn’t any way Riff would or could ever want them to _stop_ being friends. But seeing all these with the knowledge that he still hadn’t let his feelings for her go entirely… it stung. It sucked. It filled him with a sense of defeat—even if he hadn’t even actually been rejected. You have to actually be honest with your feelings to have experienced that, not just sit on them like he did on the daily. But everytime she crossed Branch’s mind… the rock troll received a devastating, bitter sample of how it felt. 

The one thing that took Riff out of his jumbled, jealous inner monologue was a photograph his wandering eyes had stopped dead in their tracks on that looked to be at _least_ a few decades old. It hung on the wall in a wooden oval frame, directly in the middle of the rest of Branch’s pictures. A portrait of an older woman draped in a fuzzy pink sweater, with kind eyes, and teal hair that she kept in an updo. But who was she? He’d never mentioned her before—and she certainly wasn’t in any of his other pictures—but her portrait still hung in the middle of it all. It had a haunting air to it; not necessarily in a bad way, just one that he simply couldn’t explain. 

As if on cue, Riff turned his head to see Branch walking towards him, and he almost jumped. 

”Okay, well, I’ve got the coffee brewing on the stove, and I guess you’re already pretty acquainted with the living room,” he pointed out, “So...I guess I’ll take you into _my_ room!”

As Branch marched on ahead of him, Riff’s face was flushed to the tips of his ears.

Together they walked down the hall, past a spare room of explosives and traps, until they reached his tiny little dim room at the end. Though his mossy bed in the middle took up a little chunk of the space, he had laid everything out really nicely. A dug-out closet on the right, another little book shelf against the wall, a pretty standard sized master bathroom. For whatever reason, his bedside table stood out to Riff the most; it looked… so different? Usually something as normal as furniture would’ve gone right over his head, but the longer he stared, the more he noticed. The intricate trimming along the bottom… the patterns carved into the front of the table itself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he felt the same way about his little bookcase. He couldn’t put his finger on why—but there was something about them that made him want to know more.

“This is probably gonna sound… really weird or something, but… where’d you get that nightstand? It’s, uh...really unique, actually.”

Branch’s eyes lit up like a match. “Oh! I made it!”

Riff was forever grateful that his hat mostly covered the flushed, wide-eyed expression that was slapped across his face at those words. He _made_ that?

“Same with the bookcase, and most of my shelves in here!” He added, gesturing to them individually, “Wood-working and carpentry is… kind of a hobby of mine. Learned it from a couple books over time growing up since, you know… had some spare time when I wasn’t building this place,” he explained with a hint of sorrow in his voice. 

“I collected so _much_ lumber in case of an emergency that I decided to pick it up one day and, over time, well— it stuck, and the rest is history. It helps me relax… makes things make sense when they don’t.” 

With his tone swinging back and forth from passionate to pitiful, Riff wasn’t sure what the best way would be to respond. He always seemed to say either too much, or too little. With every part of him, the desperately pining rock troll wanted to reach out and pull Branch into the warmest hug. Tell him how strong he was for having lived through so much, and for how he had recovered from it all, and used his pain to grow as a person. But, currently, that wasn’t an option… for _now_ , at least. 

“Well… I-I guess you really did your research, because these are just… really cool...” Riff assured him. Cool? Was he kidding himself? It was so much more than ‘really cool’. The carvings on the outside of his pieces told stories. You could almost physically see how much of his heart he had poured into constructing and detailing each one—it’s true that Riff of all trolls would be biased, but it certainly didn’t make him any less right. 

“Ah, you’re just saying that—“ 

“No! Seriously! U-um…” Riff stammered, thanking heaven above that his hat helped him avoid eye contact, “I r-really like all the detailing… you can really tell it makes you happy. Or, I mean, that’s how I see it, at least...” 

Branch’s expression softened at his tender words. Was that the faintest blush on his face? No. It couldn’t be. The drummer crumpled that thought up like a piece of paper to toss into a waste bin—one that he would most definitely catch himself sneaking back to retrieve.

“Wow...um...thanks,” The pop troll replied, delightfully bewildered, “No one’s ever… told me that before.”

“Oh—sorry. Was that...weird?” 

Branch’s brows shot up. “No! No! Not at all, I didn’t mean it like that. The opposite, actually—“

They were suddenly interrupted by the whistling of the stove-top coffee maker. 

“Oh, man. Let me go grab that off the stove. How do you like your coffee?” Branch asked, as they both walked back out the door. Riff was still half-spaced-out from their conversation.

“Huh? Oh! Um, just a little creamer if you have it. I don’t really take too much in mine.” He replied, as he took a seat at Branch’s little dining room table.

Branch nodded, and took out two yellow mugs from his cupboard, pouring the fresh brewed coffee into them both. “I know what you mean. It might be a pop troll thing to love sweets—but I always like my coffee a little stronger, a little more bitter. Never too much cream, _never_ too much sugar.”

Riff watched the woodsman prep their drinks as if he had never seen coffee made before. When they both sat down at the table, it was almost obvious exactly how much Branch’s mood had changed. Like as soon as he had taken a seat, the weight he had been dragging behind him was thrown directly on top of him. For several minutes, he barely touched his cup, and the silence between them was deafening. Branch took in a deep breath, and exhaled.

“So… other than the fact that I kinda missed you, and wanted you to finally see the bunker… there _is_ something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Riff stopped drinking his coffee mid-sip. Though his eager little heart fluttered at the sound of Branch saying he missed him—the feeling was replaced with dread as he came to his senses. He slowly lowered his cup onto the table, and tugged on the sleeves of his grey sweatshirt. “...Oh yeah? What’s up?” 

Branch hesitated. “...Have you ever had to move on from someone?”

Riff froze.

“Um… I mean… not exactly, or, not _yet_ , I guess. I’ve never really been in a long term relationship…or, you know, something _like_ that. Just flings, really. One night, two night, every-other-Tuesday-night-stands…” 

Branch chuckled. “Busy schedule?”

Riff’s face blushed a deep purple, and he felt like sinking into his seat. 

“W-well, not so much nowadays…” he stammered, desperate to change the subject. “Anyways… why do you ask?”

Branch’s eyes were downcast, while all the rock troll across from him could do was stare directly at him. 

“It’s hard… but… I think I really have moved on from the whole Poppy situation.” 

As if on cue, Riff could feel the butterflies in his stomach stirring.

“...Yeah? You think so?” He asked hopefully, trying not to sound too eager or desperate in the process.

Branch nodded. “...I do. It still kind of hurts a lot, but… I feel more… at peace with it. She’s happy. I’m getting there. And you know, it’s kind of just a thing where… i’m just glad that she’s still here. Rejection just isn’t an easy thing for me, I guess, but… at the end of the day, she’ll always be my best friend.”

Riff shifted the beanie over his face upwards, so he could meet Branch’s gloomy gaze with his twinkling blue and yellow eyes, each glazed over with empathy. “Dude… don’t beat yourself up over it; it isn’t for anyone. It really isn’t, but… I’m… really proud of you for getting to that point.”

Branch looked up at the rocker, who was regretting opening his big mouth, and was taken aback by how... _pretty_ Riff’s eyes were. They stared into his own with the same tenderness he could feel in the words he spoke. The survivalist tensed up for a moment. _Pretty?_ Geez, Branch. Get ahold of yourself. Snap out of it.

On Riff’s end, as much as he wanted to enjoy it, he could only pray that the pop troll wouldn’t see right through him during this strangely tension-filled, silent exchange. 

“...Thank you… that means so much to me. Seriously,” Branch stressed to him, trying to shake off what he’d just been stewing over, “I mean… I know you’ve had to hear more stuff about this than just about anyone else.” 

“Hey… hey. Come on, Branch,” Riff cut in, extending his arm across the table, “I mean, you know, I can’t say it’s always been fun to hear, but, at the end of the day… that’s only because I know… h-how much you’re hurting. It hurts… to see you hurt.” 

Throwing the rocker completely off guard, Branch laid an assuring hand over his own. Tense silence fell between them. With every part of him, all Riff wanted was to fill that void with an _I love you_ . _It_ **_hurts_ ** _because I love you. It_ **_hurts_ ** _to see you_ **_hurting_ ** _because I_ **_love_ ** _you._

But all he could do was sit there, stiff as a board with an entire novel of words stuck in his throat, staring hopelessly at the sight of their hands together. Burning the image into his brain. 

“Aw, Riff… you’re the best, man. Seriously, though—I’m still sorry. No more of all that. You’ve helped more than you ever should’ve had to.” 

The drummer beamed. “What are friends for?” 

Well, that hurt like a ton of bricks to say out loud. Not that it wasn’t true, but… wasn’t exactly ideal, either. When Branch retracted his hand to rest it back on the handle of his mug, Riff could have sworn he felt all warmth escape him. He stared down at the still-steaming coffee in his cup, before taking a slow, strained sip.

Branch cleared his throat. “You should wear your hat more on your head, less over your face, more often, by the way—if you want to, I mean.” he suggested, his ears lowering slightly. “...You have really nice eyes.” 

Riff struggled to not choke on his drink. He shyly set down his mug, and brushed a piece of hair behind his ear. God. He needed to settle down. Branch was _just_ being nice to him as his friend, and here he was, acting like some lovestruck idiot. Acting like he had confessed to him when he was just being sweet, like he (mostly) (usually) was. When he was just complimenting him, as friends do. Right?

“Aw…Thanks, dude...” the drummer replied, barely managing to spit it out. 

Branch smirked. “What are friends for?”

—

The rest of the day went by like a blur; after the two had finished their drinks and left their cups in the sink, they hopped on the couch, and _accidentally_ ended up staying there for hours. Playing cards, which Riff continuously had the upper hand in in a game against Branch, watching movies, but most of all, just… talking. It was something the rocker absolutely ate up about their dynamic, and something that made Branch feel not so alone; they could get completely lost in a conversation that took so many different turns, and lasted so long, that half of the time they could never remember how it all had even started, nor did they care. Though they were very different trolls—they were _perfectly_ different. Riff talking about the construction of an outfit, or just a jacket, could easily transition into Branch’s knowledge of carpentry as if they were the exact same thing. Even their view of the world, and of things in general paired quite well together; With Branch being a grittier pop troll, and Riff being a rock troll who lived on the softer side, their interests and comfort zones often collided, or at least related in some way or another. It seemed that they worked _too_ well, or were too good to be true—and, unfortunately for Riff, he always seemed to be right about that. 

“So you started doing all of this when you were like, seven?” The survivalist asked him, clearly invested.

“Yeah! It’s kind of part of how I got the internship as Barb’s assistant in the first place,” Riff started to explain, “I used to patch up, or help customize the jackets that some of King Thrash’s guards or assistants wore. My brother was one of them, and he always gave me _his_ jacket to fix, so… eventually it just became a thing for everyone there. They liked the personal touches I’d add to them, even if I was just a kid, but, I’m sure most of it was probably because of my brother convincing them… he’s so much of the reason I am where I am, to be honest.”

Branch’s awestruck expression delighted the rock troll to no end. “I mean, that’s really great of him, but, you should give yourself more credit too! That’s really impressive… especially when you were just a kid.”

Riff shrugged shyly, a hint of discomfort visible at the idea. “Maybe,” he replied, “but, what about you? Have you ever done something with your carpentry stuff around the village?” 

Branch almost looked hesitant. “Well… I mean… to be honest, I don’t really do too much with it outside of stuff for _my_ house...” he paused, “...but, I guess I _did_ sort of become the village handyman after I started coming out more...oh! And for Poppy’s birthday last year, I _did_ make her that coffee table.” 

Ah, yes, there it was; punch to the gut number two. “A coffee table?”

The pop troll nodded. “Yup! A little oval coffee table. I carved hearts into the table legs, and all along the edge of the table itself. Painted it to match her room. To be honest though, as much as I _like_ making stuff… the best part of it was to see how _happy_ it made her. How much she loved it when it was all done.” 

Riff held in a breath, and quietly ground his teeth together, keeping his expression at as much of a poker face as he could. “That sounds neat.”

An awkward silence fell over them. 

“Oh, geez—what time is it??” Branch asked, breaking the tension between them. 

“Huh... uhm, ‘clock says it’s almost, like, seven?”

Branch’s palm met his forehead. Had he really lost track of time by that much? “Oh, man… i’m so sorry. I was going to cook and I forgot to take any meat out… l and now it’s so late. Guess it’s kind of obvious I don’t have people over too often, huh?” 

All Riff could do was smile. “No, no! it’s no problem…!” he spoke up very timidly, “I mean, I’d prefer good conversation over good food any day… especially if it’s with you.” 

The way Branch looked at him so suddenly made the rocker wish he could physically take his words back with how obvious he was being. “Y-you know… since you’re fun to talk with and all…”

Branch beamed. “Good thing I think the same thing about you, then.” he replied, “But I still think we should probably go grab some food before it’s too late, if I’m not cooking. You up for that?”

“Sure!” Riff nodded as they strode towards the elevator, “I’m guessing the only place that’s still open is probably the pub.” 

“Probably,” Branch agreed, stepping onto the platform, “But, who knows? I don’t really keep up with business hours since I don’t eat out too often. ‘Got too much stuff here to justify it most of the time.” 

As the elevator began to rise, Riff once again paid close attention to the store rooms they would pass as they went higher and higher. God. It was no exaggeration that Branch really had dedicated most of his life to preparing for the worst, instead of hoping for the best. They’d talked about so many things from his past, about his growing up alone, about things that he’d learned and seen… but he still hadn’t gotten to the source of it all. The ‘why’. What made him close himself off to the world so suddenly, at presumably such a young age. He was sure he would figure it out with time—but that didn’t entirely silence the rocker’s curiosity. Whatever it was… all he knew was that Branch was the last person who would have deserved to go through something so drastic. 

Their abrupt stop when they reached the top yanked Riff out of his spacing out. Branch went to press the button to open his door, but as it slid open, it took mere seconds for the both of them to be greeted by a face full of snow that only continued to pile on top of them. The pop troll reached up to grip the door and tried to slide it closed, but it was proving to be harder than it ever normally would. It seemed the cold had even slightly frozen the mechanisms on his door. There was so much snow to the left of him, that for a second, the only thing peeking out of it was the top of the royal drummer’s black beanie.

“Riff! are you okay?” Branch worried, as he struggled to shut the door above them so no more snow could pour in. Riff’s hand shot out of the snow as he gave him a thumbs-up, and he shoved more of it out of his way. Quickly, the rock troll gave his friend an extra hand, and they were finally able to shut the door all the way. Even in their sweaters, the partially melted snow that still clung to them chilled them to the bone. 

“W-what happened??” Riff asked, his teeth insistently chattering from the sudden cold. 

Branch sighed. “There must have been a pretty heavy storm going on while we were down here this whole time… since we’re so deep underground, it’s not like you can easily hear things like that. Great for sleeping during thunderstorms— _not_ so much help during blizzards.” 

Riff tilted his head. “You don’t like thunder?”

Branch tensed. “Not… really… I-I mean— _okay_ . **_Back_ ** to the problem at hand,” he redirected, “What I’m trying to say is that, to be honest with you… it’s gonna be a few _days_ before that all melts enough to let us out of here.” 

Riff’s heart fluttered in his chest. Multiple days, uninterrupted, with Branch, in his bunker? To act like he was disappointed seemed like an impossible task.

“Oh, wow… that sure is… a lot of days...probably.” He stammered awkwardly, trying to mask his nervous excitement. As Branch pulled the lever back to send them down once again, it took the rock troll all the strength he had within him to _not_ start smiling. 

“If we were anywhere else when this happened, I’d be freaking out—but, I mean, with over 5 years of preserves, I think we’ll be more than alright,” the woodsman shrugged, a hint of doubt or concern hidden in his tone. “I just feel bad… you could’ve been on the way home right now if I hadn’t screwed up.” 

“C’mon man, we were both talking; it took two to screw up, so don’t count me out.” Riff interjected. “I don’t know about _you_ , but… _I_ think being cooped up with somebody I care about is a pretty big win.” 

“You mean that?”

Riff nodded assuringly. “Sure do.”

Though Branch hesitated, the smile that quickly crept onto his face gave him away before his words ever could. The drummer could have sworn he noticed a flush of color in Branch’s cheeks just like before, but tried to brush the thought aside, until their gazes met.

“...I think so, too.” Branch agreed. So he _did_ blush. But, people blush for many reasons. With excitement. With embarrassment. Change in temperature. Which could certainly be what it was, as the both of them were practically freezing as the leftover snow turned to ice cold water that soaked their sweaters.

Definitely not because of anything relating to him in any form or fashion.

—

That evening, the two of them made dinner together after using a _few_ different methods to defrost some fish in a timely manner. Though Riff was no expert by any means in the kitchen, he still helped where he could, nearly cutting his own finger off in the process of chopping vegetables while getting a little too invested in watching Branch cook. But when he had traded his soggy sweater for just a clearly aged green apron, how could he not be? The only thing that puzzled him was how he wasn’t cold by this point. Eventually, Riff just settled for the idea that he was used to the winter climate in the bunker enough to be fine without an actual shirt. Supposedly.

It felt like everytime they were together, Riff discovered another one of the reclusive troll’s hidden talents. Secret poet, secret carpenter, secret cook… what _couldn’t_ he do? As Branch tastefully seasoned the main course with herbs and spices the rock troll was sure he had gathered himself, he struggled not to nearly-accidentally-almost hurt himself again with his quick, secret, but constant staring. 

Dinner tasted just as good as it had looked when it was being cooked. Branch had blackened the fish just enough to where it wasn’t _too_ burnt for him personally, but just enough to where Riff couldn’t praise it enough. They ate at his little dining table, cracked jokes, and tried to keep their spirits up in light of the unpredictable situation they were in. 

There was this flickering feeling within Branch that he either couldn’t put his finger on, or simply refused to acknowledge every time he could see how much Riff enjoyed his food. Perhaps it was the power of that goofy smile of his that happily stretched from ear to ear after every bite, or the way that he would look at him with such awe while Branch explained his process. Things that were so simple, so trivial to the survivalist seemed like the greatest achievements to him. There was something there that almost felt louder every time they were together—something that _lingered_ . Something that would casually throw him for a loop when Riff looked at him in a certain way, or when he noticed something about the rocker that he never had before. Whatever it was, as _not_ ready as he was to try and figure it out—it was almost too loud to ignore. Almost.

Caught up in the euphoria of spending so much uninterrupted time with his friend, Riff hadn’t even stopped to consider Barb until they had a bit of silence in-between their eating. Even if he’d told her to go on home if he wasn’t there, he knew she would still wait up for him for at least an hour or so. And if he wasn’t there after several days—he knew she would be worried, as little as she liked to admit it. He didn’t want to worry her; she had enough on her shoulders with being the leader of their tribe, caring for her dad—oh, man. Who would look after Thrash when Barb wasn’t around while he was gone? Carol? Not likely. Wasn’t her job. Would Barb just have to lovingly drag him along everywhere while she worked? Breaking away from important tasks to get him everything that he needed, when it was _his_ job to do that? Admittedly, as happy as he was to be stuck with Branch—the reality of the situation was weighing on him a bit. But, really, what more could he do? He would just have to explain as soon as the snow melted and he could get home. Barb was sure to understand after that. Right? 

Riff suppressed his lingering anxiety with the last bite of his fish, and tried to keep it that way so Branch’s efforts wouldn’t be wasted. Getting sick would be the worst possible thing that could happen right now. Everything would work out. Everything was going to be okay. There was nothing he could do about it now, so he just needed to stay in the moment and try not to let it get to him. 

Branch kindly took his plate out from in front of him, taking notice of how slightly distraught he looked, and finally snapped Riff out of it. 

“Riff, you okay man?” He asked, as he stacked the drummer’s plate on top of his own.

“O-oh, yeah, thanks!” He chirped, “But, um...since you did most of the cooking, I can wash the dishes.” 

“Ah, c’mon, that’s not necessary,” Branch replied, “You’re my guest—“

“Okay, yea, I’m your guest, but I wasn’t _supposed_ to be after like, seven o’clock, until all this happened. We’re in this together, right? I can wash some pots and plates...or, something…please?” Riff argued, not backing down.

Branch shrugged. “Alright, fine. If you insist.”

Riff promptly took the plates right from the woodsman’s 

hands with a satisfied smile, and got to work. Nothing too major at all; just their plates, their silverware, a skillet, some cups, and the knife he’d used for the vegetables. 

Branch snuck a peek over his shoulder at Riff happily washing their dishes, and couldn’t help but grin as he wiped down the messy stove-top. What kind of troll was _happy_ to do dishes? He sure was a funny one. Funny… _very_ helpful… and filled with simple wisdom that was usually masked by his shy, reluctant personality. His anxious nature and pattern of second-guessing could easily be misunderstood as lacking intelligence, but Branch knew much better than that—it wasn’t like he _didn’t_ have a million conversations with him to reference as proof.

Victim to the conflicting thoughts that swirled in Branch’s head over his good friend, he tried to peer over his shoulder once more, only to snap back towards the stove when he caught _Riff_ doing the same thing back at him. Neither acknowledged it, trying to silently play it off, but the tension spoke for itself. Riff couldn’t have wiped the goofy grin off of his face even if he tried, while Branch stared and scrubbed a little too intently at the grease on the stove that only barely justified this much effort. 

Once everything was done, both of them sunk into the couch next to each other, nervous energy tucked under a rug, each of them just about exhausted from the events of the day. 

Branch turned over on his side to face Riff. “Hey, you know, The last thing we want is for either of us to get sick while we’re stuck down here,” he pointed out, “You should get out of that damp sweater; I know you _probably_ don’t have a change of clothes, so, even if I’m a size or two bigger than you, you can borrow anything of mine to sleep in. Well, and for anything else as long as we’re down here, of course. You can go get changed while I set up the pull-out couch, if you want.”

The rocker’s heart skipped a beat. _Wearing Branch’s clothes?_ He wished someone else was there to pinch him.

“Really? Are you sure? I-I mean, they _are_ your things, I don’t wanna intrude…”

Branch nodded, and slowly got up off the couch, stretching in the process. “Go warm up; I’ll take it from here.” 

Doing as he was told, as soon as Riff turned the corner towards where Branch’s room was, and made sure he couldn’t be seen, he _bolted_ straight down the hall, and made a beeline for his closet. 

He was honestly surprised to find that it wasn’t packed with solely green leaf vests; instead, (for the season, at least), he had a lovely selection of sweaters in his favorite colors. Most were earthy tones, but the one that stood out to him the most was a dark, navy-blue sweater that he was sure felt just as comfy as it looked. Chunky yarn and all, it was essentially one big warm hug in a top. Heh. A top. Quickly, the rocker discarded his old, wet clothes in favor of Branch’s warm, cozy sweater; the moment he slipped it on, and stared at himself in disbelief in the mirror, any pent up anxiety or looming dread just seemed to simply fade into nothing. 

It was so huge on his lanky figure that it fit like a nightgown, the sleeves spilling down far over his hands, with the front stopping right about where his plaid blue boxers did, mid-thigh. He listened once again for footsteps, and when none were to be heard, he wrapped himself up in the biggest hug while smiling ear to ear, giddy beyond comparison as he spun in a happy little circle. Shamelessly, the drummer bunched some of the material in his hands, and slowly breathed in, sighing contently when he exhaled. 

Exactly as he’d hoped—It smelled just like him.  
  


That in itself seemed to make Riff more sleepy than he had even had the chance to realize. Prepping for the night, Riff took off his beanie, and took the purple scrunchie he’d hidden in his hair out to pull it all back into a ponytail. Afterwards, he gathered up the clothes he’d tossed onto the floor in a rush, and stopped to take one last look in the mirror. His eyes sparkled back at him, still enamored by the fact that he was even here right now… even with the lingering thought that Branch probably wouldn’t have felt this way about getting to wear one of _his_ shirts, if he were ever able to fit in one, anyway. 

He took a deep breath. Get it together, Riff. Any progress was good progress. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. 

Despite the quick fluke in his mood, it took everything Riff had not to skip back down the hallway; luckily, he managed to keep his stride speedy at the _most_ , as he walked back into the living room. When he entered, the couch had been switched into the pull-out mattress, and Branch had just finished fluffing his pillows. He’d even made the bed for him, with several blankets he could use as needed. It could get pretty chilly in the bunker, after all. The sight of him with his hair up almost threw Branch off in a good way; it was cute. His hair kept up like a scraggly Pom-Pom was an endearing sight. As were his eyes, which Branch had to once again tear his gaze away from before looking too weird.

“D’aww, dude… you didn’t have to do all that!” Riff happily expressed, clearly surprised. 

Branch shrugged, and playfully tossed a pillow to him, which Riff _did_ catch, even if he was rather clumsy about it. “Hey, no worries! Not like I have much else to take care of. Least I can do. Sweater looks good, too, by the way. Nice choice.” 

Riff beamed, so happy and nervous he was almost unsure of what to say, other than, “Thanks!”

The pop troll smiled back at him in return. “No problem, man. Anything you need before I turn in?” 

Riff looked around before shaking his head. “...Not that I can think of. You should get some rest, I think.” 

Branch yawned, and stretched once again as he walked past him towards the direction of his room. “I think I might take your advice on that one.” 

Riff plopped himself down on the mattress, pulling several blankets up over him as Branch started down the hall. However, before he made it much farther beyond the doorway, he gripped the wall, and peeked out from behind the corner. 

“Oh! My bad—Goodnight, by the way.” Branch called out to him. Now bundled up for the night, Riff peaked his face out from under the blankets to see him. 

“Night!” Riff replied, as Branch flicked off the lights in the living room, and went on his way, leaving the drummer alone with his thoughts. He laid there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, with the most satisfied grin on his face. 

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Riff awoke from a slew of chaotic dreams he could barely remember to the sound of music faintly playing from somewhere in the bunker. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of one of the rooms on either side of the elevator shaft, but as to _which_ one it was, he wasn’t able to determine. He _was_ still half asleep, after all. Head pounding after a night of restless sleep, he eventually managed to drag himself out of bed, and trudged towards the bathroom. Even when he slept with it up, his raging black hair looked like he’d barely survived an explosion. 

Despite all that, when he switched the light on in the bathroom, and saw his reflection staring back at him, still draped in the survivalist’s baggy sweater, it all hit him like a ton of bricks; this _wasn’t_ a dream. He _just_ so happened to be snowed-in with Branch, and most _definitely_ was still wearing his clothes. He even went out and pinched himself for good measure, just to doubly make sure; _nope_. It wasn’t one of those weird dreams he’d had before after all. 

Once he’d washed his face and gone through as much of his morning routine as he could without actually having his things to do so, Riff’s mood changed drastically; of course, it very well could have also been due to Branch leaving out a new spare toothbrush for him. Just a perk of being stocked up on essentials for the next 5 years, he supposed. That was nice of him. As he stood there and brushed his teeth, staring at himself in his cozy sweater, he felt so accomplished. Even if there wasn’t _truly_ a reason to be so, in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t care. The fact that he felt that way just because, was enough. 

As he wandered back into the house, he tried to listen for where the music was coming from. Again, he’d concluded the same thing as last time; definitely one of the rooms up on the sides of the elevator shaft. At least that meant Branch was awake. Deciding he would just meet him up there, Riff hopped onto the elevator, and yanked the lever back to send him up. As he flew upwards, passing room after room, the music continued to sound closer and closer. It all led up to him practically slamming the lever back up to stop in front of the workout room, where he froze in place.

There was Branch, running on his self-powered treadmill in workout shorts, with a small yellow weight in each hand, sweat beading across his brow that trickled down the side of his cheek. The determined look in his eyes, piercing. The music that blared from his little boom-box motivating his confident stride.

To say Riff was tongue-tied would have been an understatement. His hands clammed up, still gripping the lever without real need to. He didn’t even know what to say, so he sat there like a statue of a zombie; zoned out, frozen stiff, and unable to say a word, let alone form a coherent sentence. 

Branch’s eyes darted to the side, then back towards the wall, then back to Riff upon realization. Startled by seeing him there out of nowhere, he stumbled a bit, but thankfully, the treadmill slowed down with him, as it only moved as fast as he did. Seeing him struggle yanked Riff out of his little daydream state, and he quickly bounded over to him, feeling guilty as he could be. Branch stepped off the treadmill, and hunched over to try and collect his bearings. “Phew. ‘Didn’t see you made your way up here. You got me good there for a second.”

“Aw, geez, Branch, I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean to scare you… are you hurt?” Riff asked, as he nervously stepped closer to him. Branch shook it off, and rose up to hit the ‘off’ button on his music.

“I’m alright—just, next time, maybe a ‘good morning’ would be a better warning…?” He calmly suggested, “But, now that you’re here, hey. ‘You sleep okay?” 

Riff shrugged. “Not too bad; could’ve been worse, I think. Sometimes when I have weird dreams, even if I’m asleep, I _feel_ like I’m awake, so no matter how much sleep I’ll get, I don’t always feel like I’m rested.” He explained, “Doesn’t happen a lot, though, so... it’s fine. Just one of those nights.” 

Branch nodded, understanding all too well. “I get that. Mine usually wake me up, though. Never easy to get back to sleep after that.” 

“I get that,” Riff replied, “Um… by the way, did you happen to—“

“Try the door?” Branch finished his sentence, “Yeah, didn’t work out so well. If I told you I’d managed to get away _without_ a pile of snow in my face first thing in the morning, I’d be lying to you.”

Riff tried to fake a disappointed sigh as convincingly as he could. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll just have to try tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Branch agreed, “I’ve been trying to think about different ways that we might be able to melt the snow ourselves, like…”

Half-listening, Riff found himself eyeing Branch’s chest while he was distracted. But it wasn’t the sight of the sweat that glistened against it after he’d been running so much, or the little tummy he’d gotten after things in his life had turned around—he was fixated on something he’d never noticed before. Something that hit the snooze button on anything he had originally planned on saying back to him. 

“Hey, um… sorry to derail a bit... I _really_ hope this isn’t weird to ask, and, if it is, you totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, l-like not at all, but—those scars on your chest—what are they from?” 

Branch looked down as if he didn’t know what he was referring to, when he totally did. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Oh! They’re from, uh… top surgery. I had it a couple years back, so, they’re not too visible anymore. Nobody _usually_ notices them under the vest—or in general, really. Unless they’re _staring_.” 

Oh, he’d been staring alright. The drummer felt so warm in his face, all he could do was pray that it wasn’t _entirely_ a glaringly obvious dark purple. The sneer on Branch’s face made him do a double take, and he practically drowned in his own dread, in addition to the tense silence between them, as the pop troll leaned in, inching closer and closer to his face.

“Nah, I’m just kidding.” He assured him with a wave of his hand. The rock troll let out a small sigh of relief, and nervously laughed it off (albeit a bit too loudly) to cover it up, despite the nerves that still coursed through him. 

“But, yea. Everything’s been healed up for awhile now.” 

Riff’s eyes lit up, and he was finally comfortable enough to react the way he wanted to. “No way, though. Really? That’s sick, dude! I’m jealous!” He cheered in awe, “...I don’t think _I’ll_ ever be able to get it, just ‘cuz I’m too nervous when it comes to surgical stuff. ‘Binder’s good enough for me. It _did_ take a while to grow this little ‘stache, though! S-So, I’m pretty proud of that. U-um...really though? That’s _so_ cool, dude!” 

Branch dug his hands into his pockets, and rocked on his heels. Though his gaze met the floor, the ever-present smile on his face said it all. “Thanks…” he shyly replied, “Guess you’ll have to grow it out more while you’re here. Worst time to be fresh-out of spare razors; I don’t grow much of anything myself, so. Not something I’d care enough about to have it stocked up for the end of times.” 

Riff shook his head. “Probably not, to be honest. It grows, but, not... _fast_. Guess we’ll see.” 

“Guess we will.” Branch shot back, as if it were a challenge. For a moment, the two of them just stood together in silence, but definitely _not_ an awkward silence. Understanding silence. Where one look into each other’s eyes said more than anything they could have talked about in that moment. A kind of solidarity that neither of them had really experienced with anyone else. It was the trust that made all the difference. 

Breaking the trance-like state they had going on, Branch gathered up his things, and Riff nervously proceeded to try and help him. When they both went to grab one of the yellow weights that had fallen to the side, Branch took it from a just-barely-not-trembling Riff with a smirk, and placed both of them back in the cupboard where they belonged. Once everything was gathered and picked up, the two of them headed towards the elevator.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Branch asked, “I don’t mean to brag, but, I make a pretty good omelette?”

* * *

Make a killer omelette, he would; _after_ a much needed post-workout shower, of course. One that resulted in a bit of an awkward run-in with Riff, as they nearly crashed into each other with him coming _out_ of Branch’s room, while Branch was trying to go _into_ his room, clad only in the towel around his waist. Riff’s expression remained as unchanging as possible; if he moved a muscle, his cover was as good as gone. 

“Oh, nice! That’s one of my favorites! Not too shabby… if this is weird, call me out, but, I think yellow really suits you.” Branch noted, admiring him in the faded yellow sweater he’d chosen. It really complimented his eyes. Riff felt like melting into the floor. 

“Aww… really?” He asked eagerly, abandoning everything that told him not to. 

“Well, yeah! Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t thinking it, you know?” Branch replied. “Leaving your hair up?” 

Riff’s eyes darted upwards, even if he couldn’t actually _see_ the messy bun he had traded his ponytail for from this angle. “Uh, yeah! I think so! At least for today. Having it all in a bun makes it a little less heavy or something, so, I just put it up that way instead. Why?” 

Branch cleared his throat in a moment of clarity. “Cool. Um. Just wondering.” he mumbled with a shrug, as he quickly went around the drummer and closed the door behind him, trying to escape his own question as fast as possible. What made him even ask? 

Smug as could be, as soon as he heard the door shut, and listened for Branch to take several steps away, Riff skipped down the hall, giddy as ever, all the way back into the living room. He always used his alone time to get his giddy energy out; feelings were a lot. Even if it all felt a little bittersweet, as he gleefully flapped his hands, and enjoyed his little moment of victory, none of the sadder details of it all really mattered.

 _You have really nice eyes_.

As he plopped down on the couch, Riff hugged a pillow close to him while he replayed Branch’s words from yesterday in his head over and over again. They’d come so out of left field; granted, it wasn’t like they were in full view very often, so, of course he might say something nice about them, but, still… he’d said it, so… endearingly. So genuinely. Branch was paying real _attention_ to him. Studying him with more curiosity, and intensity, than he had in a long time, if ever at all. Well, not that he _hadn’t_ paid attention to him before—just not… quite like this. The compliments. The subtle looks. The sort of unusual hospitality, even for the situation. 

Was he imagining it all? Was he making it all out to be more than it was? Probably. It’s not like he hadn’t done it before with him. He had to drill it into his head that Branch was _just_ a good friend. A good _friend_ who was kind enough to be so nice to him, and so courteous of him while they were sort-of trapped in here together. A good _friend_ he shouldn’t be misinterpreting the intentions of.

And yet… there was something inside of him that couldn’t let it go. Something that wouldn’t leave him alone; something that told him there were more to his suspicions than blind hope. He _had_ had that conversation with him yesterday about letting go… was he trying to hint at something? Riff sighed. For trolls sake. What a selfish thought. Branch goes and opens up to him, and he makes it all about himself? Great. Now he was just thinking and obsessing over it all in circles. Could he not just be happy about something for once and have that be it?

Heavensent without even knowing it was Branch himself, who walked into the room and thankfully tore Riff out from his brooding. The mint green sweater he was wearing making him look as huggable as ever. 

“Alright, _now_ that I don’t smell like a wet sock, I think I’ll get breakfast going.” He joked, as he made his way to the kitchen. 

Riff scrunched up his nose. “There’s something _gnarly_ about saying ‘wet sock’ and ‘breakfast’ in the same breath, man, and I _don’t_ mean gnarly in a good way.” 

Branch laughed. “Guess I’ll have to try and make up for it, somehow.”

* * *

Turns out that Branch really wasn’t kidding about that omelette; full of tomatoes, onions, peppers, basil, and a little cheese, every bite was packed with flavor. They’d been thoroughly enjoying it together before Riff whipped out a deck of cards; from there, all focus shifted. Just like always. Every so often, they would sneak a bite from the little remaining of their breakfast, but the two of them were very competitive. _Specifically_ when it came to cards. This time, it was poker. They had nothing to bet but the sweaters on their backs (and even then, they still didn’t) but it was fun nonetheless.

Branch peeked over his deck with a sinister grin on his face; Riff merely looked him right in the eyes as he laid his cards out on the table, and let them do the talking for themselves. 

_Four aces._

“Are you _kidding_ me!” Branch sounded exasperated as he pitifully laid down his own deck, now paling in comparison, “How the heck do you _do_ that! How do you _always_ beat me?”

Riff giggled. “Aw, c’mon, Branch. One of my _first_ memories is of the older guards at the fortress trying to teach me how to play poker when I was just a little kid. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” 

Branch’s ears perked up. “Wait. So… you’ve been living in the fortress for as long as you can remember?” 

The rock troll nodded. “Yep! Lived there with my brother because of his position and all. Everybody there was like family… still is, even if some of them aren’t there anymore. ‘Still keep in touch, though.” He explained. 

“Huh.” Branch replied, “That’s… pretty cool, actually. Guess you’ll have to teach _me_ sometime. You know. Maybe while we’re stuck down here with nowhere to go, and nothing better to do.”

Riff smirked, and looked to the side. “ _Maybe_ . Dunno, though. If you’re _lucky_ i might find the time, or something.” He teased, tripping over his words a bit towards the end. 

Branch chuckled, but his expression soon softened. “You know, I feel like, even after all this time… I still don’t feel like I know as much about you as I should. Not as much as I want to.”

Riff gulped. “Um, same—w-well, except, about _you_ , I mean.”

Branch bit his lip, before hesitantly suggesting, “...Twenty questions?”

With his goofy smile returning once again, Riff nodded vigorously. “Sure!” 

“Wanna take it over to the couch?” Branch asked, as he collected their plates, “Might be more comfortable.”

“Yeah! That sounds good—“

As Branch walked off to place their plates in the sink, Riff’s attention was immediately directed towards a giant tear on the side of his baggy pant-leg. With every part of him, he hoped Branch just didn’t know—he’d hate to make him feel self conscious over his clothes and what he chose to do with them. Though he could’ve easily chosen to ignore it, that just wasn’t him. For better or for worse.

“Hey, u-uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but, did you know there’s a pretty big hole in the side of your pant leg there?” He asked very timidly.

“Wh—really?” Branch asked, as he veered his head in every direction trying to find it. “...Oh. Yeah, you’re right. I could’ve sworn it wasn’t there when I pulled them out, though? Maybe it happened when I was _actually_ putting them on. They _are_ sort of flimsy sometimes, I guess. I just like them a lot.”

“Hey! No worries, dude!” Riff assured him, as he reached into his bundled-up mane and pulled out a small spool of thread, a needle, and even a tiny pair of scissors, “I-I can fix it! Well, if you don’t _mind_ , I mean.”

Branch dug his hands into his pockets again. “Are you sure? I mean, that’s _really_ nice, but, you really don’t need to feel like you _have_ to. Sewing’s never been my _strong_ suit, if it’s not obvious by all the loose patches, but, I don’t mind doing it myself?”

Riff shook his head. “Nah. Toss ‘em over whenever!” 

Though he hesitated, Branch shrugged. “If you say so.”

The implications of what he’d just said hit the rock troll like a beater against a bass drum. “Uh—“

Welp, too late. He’d already caught the trousers in his hands as if they were just a frisbee. They both sat there silently for a solid ten seconds that felt more like minutes. Riff tried to avert his eyes as much as he could without making it more awkward than it already was, but wasn’t succeeding very well. To be fair, at least his green boxers were—well, boxer _shorts_. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Branch clicked his tongue. “You know. I… probably should’ve just—“

Riff snickered. “It’s fine, bro. Not like we aren’t...well, friends, you know.”

“Y-yeah… I guess you’re right. Heh.” He replied, his face feeling like it was practically on fire. It was only Riff. Don’t make it weirder than it already was, Branch. He couldn’t stop wondering why he was acting like this. It was as if he had no control over his own self. His hands were clammy as could be, he couldn’t even think straight, and was probably making a bit of a fool out of himself. To be fair, he had _several_ times in the past over-a-day. It was like he had just malfunctioned out of nowhere. Great. Way to make things _more_ confusing, Branch. 

“Anyways...uh,” the survivalist stammered, “The couch! Questions! You! Me! Let’s go.” 

Practically sprinting away from the situation, Branch took a seat on the left side of the couch, tucking one leg under him, with the other hanging over the ledge, and his back propped up against the arm of it. Riff followed shortly behind, and sat the same way to face him; his mending project safely sitting in his lap. He collected and snipped the thread he needed, and tucked the spool and scissors he was no longer using back into his hair. 

“You wanna go first?” Riff offered, as he wet the tip of his thread to prep it for threading the eye of the needle. Branch nodded. 

“Okay! Um… how long have you been sewing for?” 

Riff smiled as he lined up both sides of his thread, and started to tie a small knot at the end of it. “Hm… to be honest, ‘not really sure! Probably since I was like… six? Somewhere around there. Really as long as I can remember… something like that,” he answered, starting the first stitch on the shorts in the process, “So, yeah! Most of my life, pretty much.”

“Huh. Impressive,” Branch commented, “Your turn.”

“Hmm…” Riff thought to himself, “...Favorite book?”

“Easy. Lord of the Bellow-Bugs,” He shot back without question, “Timeless.” 

“Huh. Never read it!” Riff revealed as he continued his work. Branch looked shocked.

“I’ll let you borrow it sometime! Well, if you want to, that is. It’s pretty intense. Kind of gross.” He admitted. 

“Sure!” Riff nodded, “Guess it’s back to you.”

Branch scratched his chin. “Alright, _Riff_ chard, wh—“

The rock troll was so caught off guard he stopped his work, and interrupted his friend with a wheezy laugh. “ _What?_ ”

Branch shook his head. “I’m just being stupid,” he explained, “Poppy does it sometimes. Probably not as funny when I do. It’s cute when she does it. Me, not so much.”

Riff’s giddy enjoyment of the moment faded into a terribly disguised, somber silence. He lowered his gaze to focus on his stitching once again. “Heh.”

The phantom pain in his gut whenever he heard him say things like that hadn’t felt this loud in a while. It was the little grim reminders in their happiest moments that hurt the most.

“Anyways,” Branch re-started, “Um, favorite thing you’ve ever made?” 

Shoving down the negativity he was trying not to let take over the moment, Riff beamed, so excited he’d even asked something like that. “Oh, totally this maroon leather jacket I made a few years back! It was the first thing I’d ever made with that much leather. I like wearing it when I go biking and stuff…I almost wore it here, actually, but I settled on that sweatshirt instead.” he explained.

Branch loved hearing him talk about these things. He was so talented, and he barely even appreciated himself for it. Barely even realized it. Perhaps it was a little hypocritical to think when _he_ practically did the same thing but to himself, but, still. He liked how delicately and precisely he worked; his stitching was all so neat. Not all shabby and jumbled like his always turned out to be. For a solid minute, Branch’s attention was dead set on just watching the rock troll’s hands as he joined the fabric back together, back and forth.

“My turn!” Riff pointed out, snapping Branch out of his little trance. He shook his head while the rocker was distracted, further trying to bring himself back into the moment. “Hate to turn it back on you, but…uh, favorite thing _you’ve_ ever made?” 

Branch had to think about that one. Favorite thing of _his_ he’d ever made? 

“...Trinket box I keep under my bed. I worked really hard on it after I started opening up more—to the outside world, to other people, to stuff from the past… it was kind of a healing project, and it’s got some really important stuff inside. I think it’s pretty neat.”

Riff looked up from his work. “That’s… really nice, dude.” 

He chewed on the way Branch had worded that for a moment. Had he… really cooped himself up for as long as he made it out to be? Was he really not exaggerating this whole time? Not that It would’ve necessarily _surprised_ Riff if that was the case, but… it made him sad to think that there really was so much more to him that he just… never talked about. 

What better time would there be to get that information out of him than in their friendly game of twenty questions?

Branch shrugged. “Ah, c’mon...”

Shifting back into their conversation, the drummer smiled at him as he gently yanked his thread to tighten it. “I mean it.”

Branch’s eyes were downcast as he tried to avoid fully accepting the compliment, and while he was trying to think of another question. 

“Thanks… um… oh! How old were you when you started playing the drums?” 

Oh, man. He hadn’t thought about that in a while. “Pretty sure I was...like, fifteen? ‘Filled in for the _old_ royal drummer a couple times back then when they didn’t have anybody else, and, it was all a mixture of an accident, and stuff that I’d already known from being _around_ drums my whole life. Just, sort of randomly fell in love with it. That was… pretty much right around when she’d first been crowned Queen. Huh. Time kinda’ flies…”

Riff thought to himself for a moment, trying to find the courage and the words for what he wanted to ask next. If Branch said something back to him after that, he certainly didn’t hear it. It always seemed like he had so many questions stewing in his head about Branch all the time, each eager to be asked, but the moment it was actually _appropriate_ for him to randomly ask them—they all disappeared, leaving him up the creek without a paddle.

“So…” he started off, “...Branch…” 

A little put off by his demeanor, Branch raised a brow. “Yeah…?” 

“What made you, like… wanna build the bunker in the first place?” Okay, good. That was _some_ what of a good start to things.

“Bergens.” He answered quickly, “My turn.” 

“But—“ 

“Riff,” Branch interrupted, “Favorite comfort food?”

The rock troll was a little taken aback. “Uh...Cheese Whiz and crackers.”

“I said comfort food, not _struggle meal_.” Branch teased.

Riff shrugged. “Hey, _you_ asked, _I_ answered!” 

The pop troll rolled his eyes. “Alright, fair enough. Back to you.” 

“Sweet,” he acknowledged, “...Why did you stay down here for so long?” 

Though clearly uneasy, Branch tried to push past it. “... _Bergens_.” He urged for a second time, “Something you like that everyone else hates?”

Riff sighed. “Branch—“

“ _Something you like that everyone else hates?_ ” He repeated, not budging. 

The drummer pouted, but went along nonetheless. “Uh… sweet stuff, I guess? I don’t like _all_ of it, but I'm, like, the only rock troll I know who eats fruit, so. Yeah.” 

Branch only nodded in understanding, clearly in his own little world, visibly troubled. Getting information out of this troll was like trying to pick a lock without a keyhole, and even _that_ was wishful thinking.

“Well, back to me,” Riff began, “So… something you missed _while_ you were in the bunker most of the time, maybe?” 

“Nothing that wasn’t already gone.” He replied point-blank. Well, it was better than the same answer! Of course, that was probably just because the same answer wouldn’t have made any sense, even if he’d been _trying_ to lie, but, still. Better than nothing. 

“Like what?” Riff prodded further. 

Branch ignored the question with another question. “Favorite food?” 

A long, defeated sigh escaped the rock troll. “Pizza with anchovies.” 

If Riff was going to get _anything_ out of Branch to where he would actually listen, he needed to switch tactics. No matter how much he cared for him, it was _just_ shy of being a lost cause, and this clearly wasn’t working. His eyes darted around the room. In a moment of desperation, or as if by chance, the rock troll’s gaze fell, once again, on the haunting portrait on his wall. 

Bingo. 

“Is that your mom?” He asked, pointing to the picture of the older woman. Branch’s whole body tensed up. He felt his stomach churn. 

“...It’s my grandma.” He barely managed to answer, “ _Least_ favorite food?”

He stopped sewing, and placed the project to the side. “Uhh...Kiwi’s. The skin is _so_ nasty.”

Branch wrinkled his nose. “...You’re not supposed t—“

“Does she live nearby? I feel like I’ve never seen her around here.” Riff cut him off, curiosity filled to the brim. 

“Does _who_ live nearby?” Branch questioned, his voice laced with a sternness he’d yet to have seen from him in the time they’d known each other.

Riff tilted his head, and sort of felt like crawling under the couch. He _half_ felt like that was a warning that he should’ve stopped, perhaps even a while ago, but chose to continue. He was already this far into it, and it at least _seemed_ to be going somewhere. “...Your _grandma_?” 

Branch’s eyes met the middle cushion down in-between them. His frown was… so many things. Distressed. Bitter. Remorseful. Not to mention the sorrowful, empty look in his eyes. It was too late to realize that this was probably a mistake.

“She died when I was a kid.” He replied dryly. There was still anger there. Anger that Riff could feel from across the couch. Perhaps not _towards_ him, but, he _had_ been the one to bring it up. 

“Branch…” Riff uttered quietly, “That… sucks, dude… I’m really sorry.” 

The pop troll shifted his legs to where his knees were up under his chin, and wrapped his arms around them. “Past is the past… wish it wasn’t, but, you know. Nothing I can do about it,” he mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, “...It’s okay, though.”

Riff bit his lip, wondering if he should really let what he was thinking out of his mouth. Maybe it would help him to talk about it? Maybe he hadn’t before? This was certainly getting him further than _any_ of the other questions had before. Maybe it could do him some good to let it all out?

The rock troll held in a deep breath. “What… happened to her?” 

Immediately, Branch looked up at him with fury in his face. Were his eyes watering?

“Don’t wanna talk about it. Good enough answer for you?” 

Well, that was a knife to the chest that could have been easily avoided. He really needed to start listening to his conscience more. 

“U-Uh, yeah...I-I...I’m really sorry, dude, I shouldn’t have asked—“

“It’s not even that you asked, it’s that you just, _kept going_.” Branch fired back. 

“Branch—“

“Don’t _Branch_ , me. You know, If we’re gonna talk about _family_ ,” Branch interjected, his tone almost spiteful, “Since you talk about your brother so much, how come I’ve never met him? Huh?”

Riff froze, his eyes widened in shock. It was several moments before he even _thought_ about opening his mouth.

“...He’s… not here.” 

Branch continued to press him. “Okay? Then where is he?” 

Riff’s lip curled, his look of disbelief replaced by a teary scowl. “...It’s not your turn.” 

“Pretty sure the game ended several uncomfortable questions ago, so, with that in mind—where is he?”

Silence.

“Yeah. Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” He asked, pain clear in his voice.

Riff remained silent for a long time, before he finally uttered, “It’s not. Your turn.” once again.

Branch gave up, and crossed his arms. “Fine. Shoot.” 

Riff made sure to look him directly in the eyes. “What’s _wrong_ with you, dude?” He asked, _trying_ not to get too emotional. He might as well have knocked Branch clear off the couch with how he looked after that one. 

“I mean, I’m sorry I asked about it all so much—I just. I just wanna know you! I _care_ about you, dude! I just wanna know what it means to know the _whole_ you. That’s the whole reason we were doing this in the first place, right??” 

The pop troll’s scrunched up, pouting face started to soften. 

“You even said it yourself! The more time I’ve spent with you, dude… the more I kept wondering if there’s stuff that I don’t know about you, that I _should_ . Look...maybe I went a little too far. I get that. And, you know, again, I really, really am sorry—the _last_ thing I wanna do is hurt you. To be real with you, man, I… I’d rather die first. I just… I just wanna know who you really are, Branch! We’ve known each other for half a year, and… this is like, the closest I’ve ever felt… to _actually_ knowing you.” 

Branch was stunned. He truly had no idea what to say. He had such a mixture of shame and anger stirring inside of him. Shame, because, well… he knew Riff. He knew he didn’t have a spiteful, mean-spirited bone in his lanky body. All he wanted was to understand. Why had he just shoved it all to the side like that? He could’ve chosen to breathe, and talked about it, instead of projecting all his pain onto him. And the sincerity behind all that… who else wanted to get to know Branch _that_ much? He wasn’t out to get him. He wasn’t making fun of him. If anything—Riff was the _last_ person who ever would. Even before Poppy. 

The anger still lingering within him was because, well… he’d still asked. But why shouldn’t he be able to? Getting to a point where he could talk about all of that without getting angry, and confused, until he just spiraled… was still an uphill climb. They were having so much fun. Genuine, stupid, unfiltered fun—and he’d just gone and threw it all down the drain over questions. Everyone _wasn’t_ out to get him—especially, _especially_ not Riff. It wasn’t long before he’d exchanged his glare for the most somber, shameful expression.

What had he done?

Branch pushed himself off of the couch, and stood in front of his shaken friend. He felt like he barely even had the strength to speak. All he wanted to do was run. “I… I think I need a minute.” 

Riff sniffled, and hugged his legs against him the same way Branch had before. He felt like he wanted to curl up into a little ball and disappear. 

“...That's okay.” He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched with sad eyes as Branch turned around to start on his walk of shame back to his room. 

The pop troll had never felt so small. What was he thinking? Blowing his top with one of the people he cared about the most, over a genuine desire to just… get to understand him? Making him hurt in the same way he did? For what? And now he was running away from his mistakes like some scared little kid in his underwear? Wow. For trolls sake. He really hadn’t been wearing pants this entire time, huh? 

He wasn’t… _trying_ to run away, but, he just didn’t have the words. He didn’t have the strength to face it. Not yet. He needed time to sit in his guilt. To replay exactly where he’d screwed up, and figure out how to fix it all.

Or did he? 

Riff still sat in the living room, and as soon as he heard the click of the door, it all just came out. He cried as quietly as he possibly could into the sleeve of his sweater. About everything. For pushing Branch so hard, for being too much of a coward to admit _how_ much he cared, for burdening him with his prescience in general without much of a choice. For the first time, the fact that his shirt smelled like him only made it worse. _Everything_ did. All he wanted was to wrap him in the hugest hug when he didn’t even _deserve_ to be able to do that. What was _he_ crying for in the first place? As if _he_ wasn’t the one who had hurt Branch? All he did was give him a taste of his own medicine—right? One that was… extremely hard to swallow, to say the least. Things he had finally stopped thinking about so much long ago were all at the forefront of his mind, and it was miserable. Lonely, and miserable.

The loneliness was always the worst part about it. 

He bundled himself up like a cocoon in one of Branch’s knitted blankets that hung over the side of the couch, and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Had he gone a little too deep? Yea, probably. He should have read the room and moved on. It had gotten him into sticky situations before—social cues weren’t always his strong suit. Purely hit or miss. But, in the same vein, had Branch entirely overreacted and gone too far himself? Absolutely. No matter how much Riff liked him, and no matter how wrong he’d been himself—he wasn’t going to act like Branch wasn’t wrong, too. In fact, he was gonna to go confront him. Yeah. He was going to walk right up to his door, and…

Drift off into a nap at the worst possible time. 

Hearing his soft weeping had subsided, Branch, who had been secretly listening in the hallway while he collected his bearings, came back out into the living room, only to find the drummer asleep on the couch, all wrapped up in his blanket. Poor guy. He’d worn himself out crying. 

Carefully, Branch adjusted his head so he could slide one of the fluffier couch pillows beneath it without waking him. He sat facing away from him on the floor, and a deep sigh escaped him.

This troll had some major explaining to do... and more to make up for than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the support! Next chapter will be up as soon as it’s ready :)


	3. Chapter 3

Riff’s eyes slowly flickered open to a dark and dim bunker, the knitted blanket still wrapped around him, with—a tuft hair in his face?

Now awake, aware, and most definitely spooked, the drummer scooched back against the arm of the chair in shock. It quickly faded away as soon as he realized it was only Branch, who had fallen asleep on the floor, while still sitting up against the couch.

...Had he been watching over him while he slept?

The details of everything that had happened before he knocked out came flooding back to him; in the moment, he’d almost been able to forget. He  _ really _ wished he hadn’t just fallen asleep. Out of the corner of his eye, Riff noticed Branch’s trousers were still hanging over the arm of the chair, just barely unfinished. He grabbed them, and went about finishing what he’d started. It wasn’t like he’d had much left. Just 2 more quick sets of whip stitches to keep everything secure and in place, and he’d be done. For now, as he looped his needle through the fabric at a quickened, rhythmic pace, it kept his mind welcomely preoccupied.

Even if this all  _ seemed _ like a setback on the outside, Riff tried to think on the positive side of things. Maybe it was therapeutic that they’d gotten a lot of things out in the open? Or, at least, they’d  _ said _ things that could lead them to  _ eventually _ getting things out in the open. Something like that. Not that he was going to push it any further, but, it was… at least comforting to know that he’d gotten  _ somewhere _ . Even if that somewhere ventured out farther than he probably should’ve gone. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before they got back on track; they’d have to wait until Branch woke up, of course, but—

_ Ow! _

Absentmindedly, Riff pricked his finger with his own needle as he spaced out. Thankfully not enough to draw blood, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. He put the invisible wound in his mouth out of habit, and then blew on it for good measure. When Branch stirred in his sleep, Riff winced, and froze in place; only unfreezing with a sigh when Branch continued to lightly snore as if nothing had happened.

Though a little dazed, Riff sat up, and looked up at the clock above the doorway. 

7:30pm. Great. 

Instead of solving their issues and moving on with the limited time they probably had left, he’d managed to sleep for  _ five hours _ . Riff’s palm met his forehead, and he pinched the space between his eyebrows. Seeing as his little bun had become disheveled while he slept, he let his hair down, and wore his scrunchie like a bracelet. 

What was he doing? Oh, right. The pants. Once he finished the last set of whip stitches, and sealed it up tight with two secure knots at the end of his thread, Riff snipped off what little remained. When he turned them inside out—just as he’d hoped, you’d never know they had been ripped unless you looked very,  _ very _ close. Aside from the loose patches that silly little troll had already applied himself, they were good as new. 

With Branch on his mind, he gazed down at the snoozing troll below him, and instantly, he could tell that something wasn’t right.

Branch looked like he was in pain; just the  _ sound _ of him grinding his teeth was agony. However, at first, Riff wasn’t sure whether it was right to wake him or not; lots of trolls grounded their teeth in their sleep, right? That wasn’t anything he  _ hadn’t _ seen before. What was starting to become truly off was the… almost  _ anguish _ in his face. His expressions while dreaming became more and more concerning. It wasn’t until he started to hear him fearfully mumbling in his sleep that Riff finally decided enough was enough. He couldn’t sit there and let him face a bad dream alone, no matter how conflicted he felt about him at the moment.

“ _No…r-run..._ ” he muttered, “ _Don’t…_ _don’t_ _leave_ _me_.”

“Branch…?” Riff whispered as he placed his hand on his shoulder, and tried to gently shake him awake, “Hey, It’s okay, dude. It’s just a bad dream. You’ve gotta wake up.” 

The survivalist mumbled something incoherent in response, still bound to sleep. Riff had tried to be gentle in his approach, but it seemed that wouldn’t be doing either of them much good; he ended up having to shake him awake. 

“Wake up, Branch! It’s okay! You’re okay…” he shushed him, as he ran a shaky hand through his hair, “You’re safe, dude, I’m here. It’s just a nightmare...”

It took a little while longer before Branch’s eyes shot open; torn from his nightmare, he gasped as if he’d been punched in the gut. Startled, Riff stumbled back a bit to try and allow him to collect his bearings. Unfortunately, he was getting nowhere fast; the poor troll was hyperventilating through tears barely after he’d even been aware he was awake. He was visibly trembling, and hadn’t said a word beyond his small gasps for air. He tried to slow his breathing and calm himself down by holding out his hands, and blew on each finger as if he were blowing out candles. 

Riff started to reach out to touch him, but stopped short. He wasn’t sure how he’d react to touch in this state when it already wasn’t something he welcomed 24/7, and wasn’t about to do  _ anything _ to make this worse. He had been through enough. More than enough. Thankfully, it looked like his candle technique had really started to help; in just a few minutes, he’d gone from a full-on panic attack to a controlled state of distress. With his long frown and his droopy eyelids, Branch looked utterly exhausted. Afraid. Shocked.

“Branch...” Riff whispered to him, only to accidentally startle the still-sensitive troll, “I-It’s okay, man… it’s just me. You’re okay. U-Um… can I…?”

Once again, he reached his hand out towards him, and held it just above until Branch nodded in approval for him to lower it. Together, they sat just like that for several minutes while Branch came down from it all. Just the two of them alone in his dark living room, Branch on the floor, Riff barely above him on the couch, with a caring hand resting comfortably on his shoulder.

“I  _ promise _ I won’t say anything else after this, but, uh, do you want some water?” Riff asked, the concern in his voice so genuine. It almost shocked Branch. Took him entirely out of his lingering brain-fog, at least for a moment.

He nodded. “Please.” 

With that, Riff leapt up, and clumsily scurried off to the kitchen to get Branch a cup of water. Branch sniffled, and swept his forearm across his face to wipe away his tears as he watched Riff hunt through his cabinets, still figuring out where everything was. Was he imagining things? The sullen pop troll felt so unworthy of his kindness. He was so used to dealing with these things alone—and the one time he didn’t  _ deserve _ to have someone there with him—he did? 

Suddenly, It hit him like a ton of bricks; Riff had seen  _ everything _ . He had been there to witness him waking up from his nightmare. The crying. The hyperventilating, the…  _ everything _ . A wave of intense embarrassment and shame practically socked him in the face. He turned away from watching Riff in the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around himself. The rocker’s heart sank as he walked back over to him with a glass of water in his shaky hands. He sat himself on the floor next to him, and handed him the glass that Branch hesitantly accepted. He turned back around, and took several hefty sips before letting out a deep, regretful sigh.

“...I’m…  _ really _ sorry about that.” Branch muttered. 

Riff shook his head. “Don’t be. Um… are you okay?”

The nervous troll barely managed a nod. “Yeah.” 

Silence fell between them. Neither were quite sure what to say, or where to start. Apologies? Small talk? Nothing really seemed quite right. Nothing would until everything was aired out. They both knew that. 

Riff moved closer to the brooding troll. “...’You wanna talk about it or something?”

Branch peered at him out of the corner of his eye. Had the moment been during better circumstances, he probably would’ve allowed himself to grin at Riff’s fluffy bedhead that stuck out in every direction.

“...Can we go to my room?” He asked, gesturing towards the hall with a tilt of his head, “I think… there’s something I should probably show you. Well, not that that’s  _ all _ I should probably do, but… you know what I mean. I hope.”

Riff nodded. “Yeah, that’s cool with me, I guess.”

Even if he didn’t need to, Branch helped him up off the couch, and together they walked down the hall in silence, until they reached his room. Branch headed towards the right side of his bed, and bent down to grab something from underneath. Riff stood awkwardly in the doorway, as if he were unsure of where to be.

“Uh, you can sit on the bed if you want to, Riff,” Branch popped his head up to say, “I’ll be right there. Just thought it’d be more comfortable to do this in here.” 

Wordlessly, Riff made his way to the left side of the bed as Branch fiddled with and wormed around trinkets and gadgets to try and find what he was looking for. With an accomplished “ _ Aha!” _ , he finally pulled it out from beneath. 

The box he’d mentioned during their game. 

It was exactly as described; a simple little stained cedar wood box, the length and width slightly bigger than the size of an average book, with a small heart etched in the very middle of the lid, and various detailing on the edges.

As Branch climbed into bed, he placed the box in his lap, and took a deep breath. 

“Look, Riff. I am… so sorry for what happened back there. Nothing I did can or should be justified—you didn’t deserve  _ any _ of it. No matter what, okay? Nothing justifies…  _ that _ . I really am sorry.”

Riff nodded in understanding. “It’s okay, man. No hard feelings.” 

Branch grimaced. “I never should have brought…  _ that _ up. Not like that, at least. It’s one thing if I was curious in general, like—like you were. But, what I did was just… out of dumb spite. I wanted you to feel like how I felt—“

“—and you weren’t…  _ entirely _ wrong in doing that—“

“Riff. I  _ was _ .”

The rock troll slumped his shoulders. “...Yea.” 

Branch sighed. “It won’t happen again. I’m still learning… how to open up to people without it all feeling like a personal attack, and, admittedly, how to keep it all from coming back to haunt me later. I don’t really think the second one can be helped much, but, worth trying, I guess.” 

Riff was concerned. “Like how?” 

The pop troll hugged his box closer to him. “You saw me having that nightmare, right?” 

“Yeah. What about it?” 

Branch’s eyes downcast. He felt tongue tied. 

“...A lot of times, whenever I talk about what happened, or even  _ think _ about it, I’ll get  _ really _ bad nightmares… never feels like I’ve even slept everytime I wake up.” 

Forlorn, Branch’s gaze drifted off to the side in contemplation.  _ Should _ he tell Riff? Was he  _ ready _ to tell him? To be fair, the second would  _ always _ be no; he would never just be ‘ready’ to explain such a traumatic event to someone he cared for. Never in general, but, for whatever reason—it almost seemed harder to open up to those close to him, rather than those not. Well, not that he’d ever opened up to people he didn’t know  _ either _ , but, it still  _ felt _ that way to him. His friendships, his true,  _ close _ friendships, were few and far in-between. He had  _ tons _ of great acquaintances; people he could hang out with, or that he got along with. People that he would tag along with during certain events. But his close  _ friends _ , people that truly  _ knew _ him, or were at least  _ getting _ there—people like Riff, people as kind, open, accepting and fun as Riff—they were a needle in a haystack.  _ He _ was a needle in a haystack of a friend in more ways than one. In ways that he was  _ still _ figuring out, even. Everytime he opened up, regardless of whether it was a silly worry or not, he always feared he would be jeopardizing the stability of the relationships he’d worked so hard to develop. 

The drummer waited patiently as Branch thought to himself. He couldn’t blame him; surely, something as painful as what he had been through would be hard to just randomly bring up, no matter what it was. There was no rush. If he had to, Riff would stay there all night into the day until he was ready to talk. However long it took didn’t matter; all he cared about was that Branch felt safe. 

When Branch went to put the box on his night stand and laid down, Riff followed suit. As the two of them turned over onto their backs, a weighty sigh escaped Branch. They gazed up at the ceiling. 

Hesitant and even fearful, the survivalist took a moment to breathe.

“Sometimes… when I fall asleep… I have this dream that I’m a kid again.” 

Riff nodded. “Yeah?”

“I’m a kid again…but, in the back of my mind, I know everything that’s about to happen,” He explained, “And… I can never make myself…  _ stop _ . I can never change the dream, I can never stop things from happening...it’s like I’m being forced to watch a movie I’ve already seen...over and over again.” 

Another deep breath. He needed to take it easy. He’d opened up to Poppy. He could open up to Riff.

“What…like...  _ happens _ , in the dream?” The rock troll asked him hesitantly, as he turned onto his side to look at him, “I mean, you know…  _ other _ than you being a kid again.”

Riff had never seen Branch like this. It was suddenly as if the toll this had taken on him was more visible than it ever had been; his tired, sorrowful eyes, and the perpetual bags beneath them. A long, familiar frown that could tell you all you needed to know and yet still leave you wondering if there was more. The rough calluses on his hands from years of hard work on his own, no doubt. And his words that faltered every time he came close to fully telling this story, when he was just about the most well-spoken troll in the village. 

Branch gritted his teeth. This was so much harder than he thought it was going to be. He felt like dried, crumbling clay on the inside, and nothing was making this easier. His chest tightened.

“What do you know about the Bergens?” The survivalist asked him. 

Riff shrugged almost uncomfortably. “Well… I mean, I know a  _ little _ bit about… when they used to… uh… well, eat us—or,  _ you _ guys—i-if that’s what you mean.” He admitted, “I overheard Queen Barb talking about it with Queen Poppy a little while after the tour happened… you know, filling her in and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I was wondering.” 

Silence fell over them for several moments. 

“It was a  _ really _ nice day outside. I don’t really know what made everything seem so happy, but… it was. It felt like the perfect day,” Branch began, “I remember, first thing in the morning… my Grandma came into my room, and drew back the curtains to let the sun in. I always got upset whenever she’d do it. I think she probably thought it was funny to watch how it would make me so grouchy first thing in the morning… and then see it all fade away when she scooped me up, and started singing… we always sang together in everything we did. Cooking, cleaning, when she’d help me get dressed… all that stuff. Somehow,  _ even _ when we’d brush our teeth.” 

When Branch smiled so tenderly at the memory, even allowing himself to lightly chuckle at the sweetness of it, Riff realized it was the first time he’d seen him do so at all since they’d been awake. He listened intently.

“She made her blueberry muffins that day, and we had breakfast together. She had this little, like, booth-style dining table in the corner of the kitchen. It always made me feel like we were at a restaurant… and she liked that a lot. ‘Really played it up sometimes. Had little menus she’d make herself so we could play pretend… stuff like that.” 

It felt like he was drifting off to somewhere else while he explained, but Riff didn’t mind at all. He knew all too well how he was feeling. Even as Branch paused, feeling the weight of it all cascade upon him again, he snapped back into reality when he realized Riff was just patiently waiting for him to continue.

Branch cleared his throat. “S-Sorry, I’m getting off track.” 

“It’s okay, dude. I’m not going anywhere.” Riff assured him. The pop troll flashed a weak smile at him, before it faded back into his defeated little frown. 

“I was outside, just singing, and playing around on the tree branch below our pod. She was hanging up our laundry to dry, and humming along with me while I goofed around. Everything seemed really carefree, and just… overall, like any other day,” He continued somberly.

“But… they found us.”

Riff’s ears lowered. “...The Bergens?”

Branch nodded. He could feel himself getting choked up, and tried to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling. He knew if he ever met Riff’s gaze, he would simply come undone. Even still, Riff timidly reached out, face painted with concern, and rested a shaky hand on his arm. 

The pop troll tensed at the feeling of his touch, but relaxed into it, making no move to brush it off, but still resisting looking him in the face.

“Our pod was on the edge of the village, so… we were the first ones they came across.” 

Branch fiddled with the fuzzy leaves on his vest as he spoke. Anything to keep his hands busy right now.  _ Anything _ . Anything that could keep him from drifting into that state of mind. He couldn’t do this in front of Riff again. He wouldn’t allow himself to. Anything to try and keep himself anchored into reality long enough to explain himself. Anything to keep him from coming unraveled. He couldn’t let Riff pick up the pieces again. What good friend should have to do something like that? How selfish was he to even have to do this in the first place just to try and prevent something that was his own doing in the first place? Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together for Riff.

He took in a shallow breath. “I was so happy, so lost in song, that… I didn’t see one come right up behind me.” 

Just the thought of that made the rocker’s stomach flip-flop. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Branch, who he could tell was struggling by this point. 

“But my grandma…  _ did _ . She dropped everything when she saw it reaching out to grab me. She kept trying to  _ warn _ me, she kept  _ calling _ out to me,  _ trying _ to get me to just  **_move_ ** as she ran towards me. A-And I…I just...” 

Branch was just barely holding back tears, but as he continued to recount all of this—it was getting harder for him to keep his composure. He felt like curling up into a little hairball and hiding himself for days. 

“...I couldn’t hear her. I was so in my own little world that I couldn’t hear her.” He practically forced out, “I only realized what was happening… when she pushed me out of the way.”

He paused.

“I fell off the tree, and as I was falling, all I could do was stare up at her… b-being…” he struggled, “being…”

He swallowed hard. A pair of tears streamed down the sides of his cheeks. He was trying so hard to keep himself from weeping to virtually no avail. 

“Eaten.”

Riff was shocked beyond words. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been, considering he’d already known about some of what happened to all of them. However, the thought of a little Branch watching someone he’d loved so dearly being taken from him so violently… it made his heart crumple up like a piece of paper. 

“Branch…” Riff spoke softly, ”...You… _saw_ _it happen?”_

The pop troll sniffled, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to suppress the tears in his eyes that threatened to flow. Unfortunately, it was futile; once a low whimper escaped him, they, too, ultimately followed. Guilt and genuine embarrassment rippled through him in waves. He was coming unglued, and he was  _ terrified of it _ . Riff had already seen too much. He didn’t need to see him cry again. He didn’t need to take on the weight of having to watch him make an even bigger fool out of himself. No one did. Absolutely no one needed that. This was  _ his _ pain, this was  _ his _ burden, this was  _ his _ nightmare to get over. He’d been able to manage it for 20 years and some change. He needed to get over it.

And yet… the memory made him crumble. He couldn’t help but start crying. 

“They  _ ate _ her,” Branch barely managed to say, “Like… like it was… like  **_she_ ** … was  _ nothing _ .” 

Branch had reached his boiling point by the time he broke out into quiet, fearful sobbing. It was too much to remember. Her screams, and even the sound of her abrupt silence mid-sentence once she’d been killed, were echoing through his head. Haunting him. 

”And... most of the time. I can’t help but feel like it’s _still_ my fault.”

The rocker adamantly disagreed. “Branch... you were only a _kid_. How could you have ever seen any of that coming? What could you have done different even if you _did_ see it?”   


The pop troll only responded with silence.

”Like, dude... even if you _had_ seen it... it sounds like she _really_ loved you. Wouldn’t she have still done... _anything_ to keep you safe?”

Riff felt frozen stiff by his own inner conflict; inside, all he wanted to do was hold him. All he wanted to do was pull him into a hug, because what words could truly express the empathy he had for something like that? What could really convey the amount of pure terror and sorrow he felt for him? Words paled in comparison to the desperate need he had to just reach out, and pull him close. Even if it couldn’t take his pain away—he wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone.

What was stopping him?

Riff retracted his hand from resting on his arm as Branch started sobbing, and hung his head. He couldn’t sit there and watch him experience this alone.

He wouldn’t. No matter how nervous he was, no matter how much he worried about whether or not Branch would think it was weird. If he didn’t accept the hug, that was fine, he would just find some way else to comfort him—but he couldn’t just sit there. Not anymore. Not like this. Not when he needed someone most. It was worth a try… right?

He kept repeating that last bit in his head, over and over, as he moved closer to Branch, who was in a fetal position on his side by this point. 

“Um...B-Branch?”

The pop troll sniffled, and wiped his face. “...Yeah?”

Riff looked to the side, took in a quiet deep breath, then looked back at Branch as he wordlessly held out his set of trembling arms. His limbs felt like limp noodles.

With how scrambled his brain was, it took Branch a second to realize what he meant. With teary eyes, he looked down at his open arms, ears folded back, and hesitated. Hugs weren’t always his go-to for comfort, but… the moment he looked into his eyes—those soft, comforting blue and yellow eyes that said more than anything could—it was over. To Riff’s ultimate surprise, and even to his own, Branch allowed himself to slowly sink into the rocker’s embrace. Riff’s entire body was stiff out of shock for a good set of seconds until he allowed himself to do the same, wrapping his arms around the poor pop troll tightly. 

Branch had never felt like this. Not ever.

Sure, Poppy had been there a handful of times when he was having a panic attack. She’d comforted and consoled him through things before. But this… this was different. It  _ felt _ different. Perhaps it was the new-ness of it all. Even if he’d known Riff for a relatively long time now, Branch had never allowed him to open up like this to him before. Perhaps it was the almost... _ comforting _ ? smokey scent of Riff’s singed fluffy hair that still lingered from him living within the ashy volcano. Perhaps it was even just the fact that you knew how mellow and sweet he was just by looking at him. The only thing he was  _ sure _ of was that, despite how little he enjoyed physical contact… this…no matter what it was... was  _ safe _ . It didn’t entirely make sense to Branch—but there was no finding why. He was hesitant to think anything of it at all. He was content, for now, in just settling on the fact that this was safe, and he  _ liked _ safe.  _ Riff _ was safe. 

As Branch sank his face into the chunky sweater he wore and continued to cry, Riff rubbed his back in circles. The rock troll had started to debate in his head whether or not he was still dreaming. He was focusing on being there for Branch, of course—but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was merely imagining this. They’d never been this close. Sure, they’d hugged—but this was… this was cuddling. They were cuddling, and it was the most bittersweet situation he’d ever been in. Was it shallow to even think about this when Branch was so upset? He tried not to, but it was so nice to think of in contrast to how horrible he felt for him. It ached to feel him crying against him. Poor Branch. He’d been through so much in such a short period of time… and it certainly felt like he still had a lot of healing to do. He was glad he knew more about him—more about his past, why he’d done certain things, and whatnot—but… a wave of guilt crashed over him at the fact that he’d made him talk about something so painful. He  _ knew _ Branch had been through something bad—but,  _ this _ bad, he hadn’t been prepared for. The last thing he wanted was to make him revisit something like that, but here he’d been, doing exactly that.

Despite the thoughts buzzing around in Riff’s head, the troll-made constraints of time felt nonexistent as they laid together; Riff rested his chin on Branch’s head, and secretly enjoyed how his hair smelled like lemongrass. He was so soft and warm to hold; a little space heater of a troll. As Branch started to come down from his episode once again, Riff just kept him calm; continuing to tell him that everything was okay, keeping his hand on his back, and telling him stupid little jokes he’d heard here and there to make him laugh. 

“Hey.” Riff said, trying to get his attention.

“What?” Branch asked, his voice slightly muffled against the sweater.

“...What do you call… a tree that fits in your hand?” 

Branch managed the slightest smirk. “Oh,  _ great _ .”

“Hehe,  _ no _ . Not a  _ great _ tree—its—it’s a...” He couldn’t help but interrupt himself laughing at his own stupid joke, “...It’s a  _ palm _ tree.” 

Even if he was still recovering, Branch couldn't help but laugh just a little bit too. The way he said it with such satisfaction, and how much it amused him was easily more than half the reason it was so funny. 

“Heh… sorry. Probably not helping too much.”

Branch shook his head to assure him he was fine, and hugged him a little tighter for a moment. Riff’s face was flushed to the tips of his ears, and he sunk deeper into their embrace.

With such constant support, Branch’s panic began to slowly subside; his hyperventilating was softer and less intense, and tears no longer continued to stain Riff’s sweater anymore than they already had. No matter how much he was enjoying himself, Branch was mortified in so many different ways, and hoped with all of his might that Riff wouldn’t think he was a  _ complete _ weirdo after this entire thing. It seemed like he was enjoying their hug too, at least. But, of course, he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

As Branch broke away from Riff, the drummer couldn’t help but feel his heart sink in his chest. He only ever wanted more—even if he’d more than appreciated what they’d had. 

“You know, I  _ really _ should stop doing things that make me have to keep apologizing to you.” Branch half-joked. Riff saw right through it.

“Dude… you don’t  _ need _ to. You didn’t do anything wrong?” He stressed, “You already said what you needed to before. Saying sorry for crying? For just… wanting a little compassion, or something? You don’t need to be sorry for that or anything… you know, it’s l-like I said before… I  _ care _ about you, man.” 

Branch was taken aback.

“I-I… I care about you too, Riff.”

He loved the way Riff’s face lit up after he’d said that. The drummer was positively beaming; he didn’t really even know what to say that hadn’t already been said—or, just couldn’t be. For now, at least, he would just have to hold onto those words and replay the way Branch had said them in his head over and over. 

Riff peered over Branch’s shoulder, and pointed behind him. “Oh, hey… were you gonna—“

“Oh, right!” Branch realized. He leaned back, and grabbed his special box from off of his bedside table. 

“After I’d been hiding for awhile, before the Bergens came back to take the rest of us—as scared as I was, I went back to where we lived,” He recounted, “And… our pod had fallen out of the tree. Most of our stuff was destroyed, but… I managed to make it out with a few of her things.”

He slowly lifted the lid to the box, revealing several objects; a cherry wood comb with flowers carved into the handle side, a little knit doily, a pair of red reading glasses with a cracked lense, and a lavender lace handkerchief. 

“Whoa…” Riff said in awe. “That’s...awesome. Well, I-I mean, you being able to get her stuff is, I mean, not everything else—“

“It’s okay, Riff. I know what you mean.” Branch stopped him, “...And, thanks.” 

The rocker nodded in reply. 

“I couldn’t bury her, so… after we made peace with the Bergens, and I started to come out more… I wanted to do something else to try and move on.” He explained, “Since I didn’t have a grave or anything else to go visit, I made the box instead. Somehow, even if I already  _ had _ her things, it helped a lot. Instead of bringing them somewhere, I put flowers in vases in my house whenever I think about her, Or, try my best to replicate my favorite foods the way  _ she _ used to make them. Things like that… make it all a little easier to bear than before.” 

As much as Riff was practically swooning at how huge Branch’s sentimental little heart was, the more he explained, the more he started to feel a little nervous pit in his stomach form. He tried to shove it down, but it was impossible to deny.

“That’s… a really good idea. I never would have thought of something like that.” 

The inkling of sorrow just barely present in Riff’s tone set off alarm bells in Branch’s head. He closed the lid to his box, and placed it back on his table. 

“Something wrong?” Branch asked him. The drummer shook his head.

“Nah. Just, thinkin’ about stuff. I think…  _ I _ might wanna do something like that.” Riff replied, as he allowed his head to sink into the pillow beneath him. Branch followed suit, chewing on what he’d said with a curious mind. 

“For who?” He wondered. 

Riff hesitated. “...My brother.”

Branch looked utterly defeated. Right. Man, this sucked. He  _ really _ wished that he hadn’t said all of that earlier now. Some friend he was turning out to be. 

“Your brother?” Branch repeated back. 

“Yeah.” Riff answered, ‘Lost him when I was, like, twelve. It doesn’t really get to me anymore, but, ‘doesn’t mean I don’t think about him all the time.”

The pop troll could feel the weight of his guilt stewing within him like a stomachache. 

“Riff… I’m... so sorry.”

The drummer waved it off. “Its okay. I’m fine, I think. ‘Have been for awhile, so, I guess that’s what matters. Stuff happens, you know?”

“Right.” Branch felt a dash of relief at that, at least.

Just a bit, though. Not entirely.

The pop troll turned over on his side to face him. “...What was his name?”

The drummer smiled fondly. “Russ. Our names were a little gimmick among the other guards. Everybody knew ‘Russ n’ Riff’ were a package deal. Even when he was working… I went pretty much everywhere with him.” 

“Probably not much to your parents' approval I’m guessing, right?” Branch joked with him, “I mean, you know, with his job and everything.” 

Riff looked confused. “My wh—? Oh. Um…” he trailed off after realizing, “Well… our parents died when I was a baby, I guess.” He answered, ”I don’t really know  _ how _ they did, but, from there… Russ took over. He raised me. He always told me that he was gonna fill me in on what all happened to them when I was older, but… you know. Didn’t exactly get the chance.” 

“Riff.” Branch replied, practically frozen in place. “That’s… that’s awful. I mean, not the part about your brother bringing you up, just—everything else. I mean, I don’t even know what to say…”

As if he’d spoken it into existence, there was a short bout of silence between them. Riff was a bit at war with himself. He’d had time to heal from this. It truly  _ didn’t _ all affect him as much as it used to—so why did it secretly hurt so much to talk about? Was he really no better than Branch had been before? If not, how did he think he was in any place to get  _ him _ to open up when he barely could himself?

“I feel like a huge hypocrite for asking, but…” Branch piped up, “What happened to him?” 

Riff shrugged his shoulders. “Well… your guess is as good as mine, unfortunately.” He glumly admitted, “Back when King Thrash was still… well,  _ King _ , he sent Russ and a couple other trolls on some kind of mission. Pretty top secret stuff, so… only the people who went, and the King, knew about it. Probably to go look around some uncharted area or something.” 

“So… he just—“

“Never came back. None of them did.” 

Branch was even further at a loss for words. What could he really say, other than simply, “Wow.” 

“Yeah… not the best thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Even if I was happy that everybody at the fortress took me in… there always just feels like there’s something missing. Like… there’s some _ one _ missing.” He lamented, “But, you know, it’s nice to have a stash of his old things that I can visit every so often. Makes me feel like I’ve got a few pieces of him that’ll never go away. That’s why I always wear his hat, too.”

Branch looked surprised. “It was  _ his? _ ”

“Well, yeah? It’s sort of falling apart,” Riff laughed, “and it doesn’t slide right over my face for nothing, yanno? Even if I’m not a kid anymore, his head  _ was _ and always  _ will _ be bigger than mine is, even now. But it’s not  _ so _ big that I can’t pull it off as just, like, a baggy look.” 

“I get that.” Branch sympathized, “It’s different, but, sometimes I keep my Grandma’s hanky in my pocket for some good luck when I need it. Not that I  _ really _ believe in luck all that much normally, but… it’s comforting.”

Riff’s face lit up. “I do that too! I keep his pocket knife on me during shows. I’ve never actually  _ used _ it since I’m not very handy, so, I guess it’s really just a good-luck charm too.”

The pop troll’s demeanor shifted to be more serious. “That’s great, Riff—I just really hope you’re okay? I mean… that’s… a  _ lot _ to deal with by yourself.”

“Nah, don’t worry. I mean, you know… it’s rough, sometimes. There’s a lot of stuff I wish he was around to see, too. Like, all of us coming together after Queen Barb’s tour, right?” He shared, “But… even if it  _ sucks _ that he isn’t here, I’ve had a while to deal with it, and  _ found _ more family because of it, who  _ also _ helped me, so… I just like to think that he’s happy for me. Wherever he’s at. When I look at it all like that—none of it hurts as much.”    
  


Riff turned to him. “I may not know what happened to my brother _or_ our parents, since whatever happened to them died with my brother, and whatever really happened to _him_ went with King Thrash’s memory loss... but, I’m happy. And, you know, considering all of that... I think that’s pretty great.”

Hearing him talk like that almost made Branch feel enlightened. It sparked a warmth in him that he didn’t even know existed. To say that he was surprised it came from him would be ignorant, and totally untrue, though— it just made it all so much better. 

“At least it all gave me a sense of humor, I guess.” Riff lightheartedly admitted. 

After a moment of contemplation, Branch chuckled to himself.

“What?” Riff asked, as he admired the pop troll’s smug little grin.

“You just made me think of something so stupid.” Branch assured him.

“Okay, well you can’t just  _ say _ that and not  _ tell _ me, dude.” He prodded further. 

Branch shook his head at himself, but when he went to look up at Riff to tell him what he was thinking, and looked into his pretty eyes again, he felt his heart race in his chest. What was the matter with him? It was only Riff? What was he nervous for? It wasn’t like he was about to tell him some huge secret. It was just a joke. A dumb one at that. This needed to stop happening. Sooner or later, Riff was going to notice. And who wanted to talk to someone who was just nervous around them all the time? Riff probably wanted someone confident, and fun to talk to. Not some blubbering troll who could barely even hold a conversation with him without breaking a sweat. 

“Uh… Branch… are you okay?” Riff asked him, concerned by his sudden zoning out. When Branch snapped out of it, his face went warm. Oh god. He’d done it again.

The pop troll cleared his throat. “Oh, u-uh, yeah! Sorry. Just, uh… remembered something for a second there,” he stammered as he tried to pick up the pieces, “What were we talking about again?”

Riff raised a brow, thoroughly confused. “Um… the ‘dumb joke’, your words not mine?”

“Ohh,  _ right.” _ Branch remembered all while being thoroughly embarrassed. “I was gonna say, um…” 

Oh man. This had been a lot funnier, and much less coated in a strange tension, in his own head. 

“I… guess you could say that the hat would be your _‘good_ **_look_** _charm’,”_ he awkwardly joked, ending with a tense, big grin on his face. If he had been able to jump out of his own body and smack himself, he would have.

Riff was utterly silent for what felt like 10 years before he let out the funniest little snort-laugh. 

“But you admit it!” The rock troll nervously joked with him as he continued on with a wheezy giggle. Branch looked puzzled. 

“Admitted what?” He smiled, more than amused at how little it took to entertain the drummer. Riff tensed up at the sudden question, but masked it just as quickly.

“Heh, nothin’.” 

Branch crossed his arms with a smug grin. “What? Aren’t I allowed to pay friends a compliment here and there?” 

As much as that caught Riff off guard, he desperately tried not to let it show. Just play it cool, Riff. He’s  _ just _ being Branch. 

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “Are you… a cool person with a big heart?”

Riff felt like a deflated balloon after that. Had flings based solely around tension and flirting back and forth taught him literally nothing? Apparently so.

“Guess the only way I’ll know is if you tell me,” Branch teased him. Riff hoped and prayed the weird lighting in this room wouldn’t  _ totally _ show off the blush that dusted his cheeks. He played it off with a sarcastic scoff.

“You  _ could've’ _ just said ‘yes’, you know.” He shot right back. 

“I  _ do _ know,” Branch replied, “...Maybe I just like hearing you talk.” 

The drummer fought back a gulp, and Branch was practically ready to kick himself for letting that out of his mouth, even if it was more than true. The two of them sat there together in a tense silence, neither knowing what to say to further or play off of that for a good minute. Too constrained by their own restrictions, and silent concern for one another. 

A small, earnest smile crept onto Riff’s face. 

“Really?” 

Despite feeling like all tangible words one could say were stuck in his throat, the pop troll nodded. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” 

Riff’s gaze drifted to the side. “I know what you mean.”

Geez, what was with all the bouts of mildly awkward silence tonight? It was like nothing made sense, and yet, it had never made so  _ much _ sense before. Branch couldn’t grasp it. Or,  _ wouldn’t _ he? Was it a hesitance to? Was it a  _ fear _ of doing so? 

Whatever it was… it wasn’t bad. He didn’t know if it was good, but it definitely wasn’t bad. 

The only way things could go from here, was up. 

“You know… the night’s still young,” Branch pointed out, grabbing Riff’s attention. “Now that we’ve aired all the dirty laundry two people possibly could… you up for something fun?” 

And there it was again. That irresistible, goofy, toothy smile of his. 

“Something you’ve got in mind?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Thank you so much for the continuous support! I never expected all of the love that this has gotten, and I appreciate all of it more than words could ever describe. Sorry this update took a bit, but I hope it was worth the wait! As always until there isn’t— more to come! <3


End file.
